The VFiles Or, Babysitting the Devil
by DahliaASant
Summary: Nearly a year after defeating Arkham, Lady has parted ways with Dante in pursuit of a normal life in suburban New York. Yet the shortlived peace of her new life topples with the arrival of a certain Sparda twin at her doorstep...as a human. VxL, OCxL
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** Well...here I am again, with another V/L oriented story in the works. Let me tell you know that Demonic Divulgences and Black Candles is NOT DEAD, I WILL be putting up new chapters very soon! I was actually working on both before I decided to pursue the crazy idea of this story that's been nagging at my head for quite some time. This is quite different than the other two works, however; it's much lighter, maybe even to the point of darkly funny, it's all in Lady's first-person view...and you'll find out the rest as the story goes along. I know, I probably "spoiled" the very beginning for you in my summary; but I promise you more twists throughout the story as you witness Vergil struggling to live a human lifestyle without killing off anything in fits of random rage, and lots of other things. And exactly _how _he becomes one is explained, as well. So be patient with me, be loving and open-minded...and, above all else, enjoy...and review:)

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**The V-Files: Or, Babysitting the Devil**

Allow me to tell you a brutal, agonizing story of my past few weeks of existence. I am writing to you now simply because if I write it in my diary it will be brutally torn open and spied upon, if I called you on the telephone the wire would be simultaneously tapped, and if I invited you to my home--well, you would probably be subject to Hell as all humans know it.

I'm not exaggerating. Keep that in mind. Every single event of my recent encounters and sufferings have all been firmly rooted in blatant, brutal honesty, and agonizing fact.

But before I throw you into what has degenerated into my sickening, jaw-clenching, gut-wrenching hole of a life; I believe it best to start at the beginning. For as I write this account on paper, secure every shred and every sheet urgently into my manilla folder and postmark it for your eyes only, I find it best to frame this strange mark of events at its origin. Monsters must hatch from their mother's equally monstrous eggs, just as a storm must emerge from a short-lived calm. Even now the monster is breathing his heavy breath down my neck as he draws nearer, his very presence bringing the hairs of my back on edge; I don't have much time, and I want to pen as much as I can, as accurately and as quickly as I can.

So, let's start at the beginning, shall we?

* * *

**Zero**

My name is Mary Arkham--or, more correctly, Mary Arkham Ann.

I changed my name shortly after I murdered my father. My mother was of British descent, and I found it only decent to revert to her surname after avenging her; I don't know why I kept my father's name, and even now I fail to find a coherent reason as of why I still do. The entire thing is some sort of twisted memorial to my former family, and so that would probably be the most logical course of explaining my actions.

You knew me as Lady. Vengeful, bloodthirsty Lady, destroying the demons that haunted my past, present, future; wielding Kalina Ann to blast away every nightmarish creature that dared to try and destroy me before I could destroy my father first. With the help of Dante, a half-demon who sought to stop his own brother, we managed to murder Arkham and bring peace back to the world as we knew it. (Even now, it's ironic, the way we both were so similar; fighting family to slake their thirst for power, unstoppable in our violent goals. Even now, I refuse to look at it as "murder"--it was self-defense, in a way, because I knew my father would come back to kill me in the end, and I had to prevent him from eliminating the last of the sane and standing Ann line.) We parted our separate ways shortly after; I spent a month with him or so, tracking down the last few demons in the area, destroying them with the remnants of my wrath towards my father--and, in a way, the wrath against myself for actually doing the deed of killing him, but it wasn't long before I desired a normal life again, a normal home.

That's what we all want, isn't it, to live calm, peaceful lives, secure little human beings in our secure little homes?

I received my wish, for a time.

At the age of nineteen, I relocated in New York, living in a quiet suburb off of the Manhattan area. It was decent, almost too quiet in contrast with the chaos of everyday city life; there were no blaring cars to wake me up in the morning, no congested streets full of the bustle of people rushing to their day-jobs, and even the sun seemed to slouch each day in the sky before awakening me a little after 8 o'clock each day. I spent a common routine of poring through the daily news for any strange occurences, any twist of events that could signal demonic behavior (but there was never any, and so I presumed Dante was doing an efficient job alone), kept the television on all day just for some sort of chaotic noise in my life. I guess you could say I grew used to the long months of battling demons and living with my rage; the chaos was a part of me, and although I was always calm and relatively happy, I was still slightly empty.

Things became a dreadful bore, a routine we humans were doomed to repeat each and every day of our lives. Waking up at the first ray of sunlight, making our beds and cleaning our apartment rooms, feeding our cat and going off to work--I was currently taking college classes five nights a week, and undergoing a dull deskjob as a secretary for a good eight hours daily--only to return to an empy building, to feed our empty stomachs, fill our empty cabinets with cleaned plates, crawl into our empty beds.

It was quite a change from shooting away demonic scum with my missile launcher, watching with savage passion as I managed to lob their stinking heads from their bodies, relishing the way my bullets tore through their skin with their resounding screams of agony.

Just a slight change, really.

My nights were still plagued with dreams--I couldn't call them nightmares, because they had grown to become a part of me, the past events of that Tower rushing through my mind like a whirlwind of memories. My father's laughing, twisted face as he stabbed through my body, the feeling of blood gushing cold through my leg as both Sparda twins watched my cries of pain, watched the Jester taunt me; and then my struggle to climb the Tower's side with only my grappling hook, my feet catching against the hard rock to keep me from falling, frantically searching for a foothold as I came nearer to my father, willing myself to keep from turning my head in fear that I would lose my grip and fall into the abyss below...

I'd wake up sticky with sweat against my bed, the chaotic scream of a television game show sending ripples of fresh panic throughout my body. And it would all feel like a dream; a little fantasy I had indulged in while younger, and this was now my reality. My enclosed prison of a routine.

But it was just like any other human life, and I was no Devil.

And then I met Allen, and things began to change. He was a regular in my office, a client of one of the lawyers whom I typed up copies of court files for. I was working overtime, my fingers aching as I typed along the keys, undoubtedly on the verge of inflicting myself with some form of carpal tunnel--when Allen came over to my desk with his warm, blue-eyed gaze, holding an even warmer cup of coffee to my lowered face. The steam brushed against my cheek and caught my attention with its heat; I remember raising my head in surprise to meet his handsome face, so confident to the point of a sort of cockiness in the way he leaned against my desk, his cream-colored sweater striking against his tanned complexion. And the tray of coffee looked absolutely tantalizing at 10 P.M. on a Saturday night, in the middle of December.

Nevertheless, I raised an eyebrow in wordless speculation to his advances, and he took the opportunity to grin almost devilishly,

"I thought you might need a break from all that work. You were looking a little flushed. It wouldn't do good for that pretty face of yours to get worry lines, would it?"

Any other day of the week, and I probably would have slapped him. Hell, I've shot a certain devil straight in his head for attempting to hit on me; why should this

overconfident bastard get any sort of leniency? But I _was_ tired, and aching for a shot of caffeine to refuel my body. If you thought battling demons was a difficult task, work as a secretary was practically murder.

And so I leaned forward in my chair, went to take the steaming plastic cup of coffee from his outstretched hand, and brushed my fingertips against his for a moment; falling for the bait of his carefully calculated trap like a fish to a lure. It was then that I took a sip that he suggested we spend the night feeding me (and I wondered how long he had been watching me for so carefully, that he would correctly assume I did not eat until I returned home)--consequently, we went to a cafe around the corner of my damned office and conversed the night away.

The next day, he became what you would call a "boyfriend." The routine became a bit more bearable; I would go immediately from work each day to dine out with Allen, then rush to college classes, only to be greeted with Allen yet again at my apartment afterwards. I was lonely, quite obviously, and in desperate need of some sort of excitement; and so it transformed into a quick commitment, and before I knew it I was waking up to the suddenly lovable man every morning. We were never close enough to call one another "lovers," really; he was more of a simple "boyfriend," one that kept me from suffering my dreams of my former life each night, and served to entertain me throughout the day. It was one night, nestling against his broad chest, watching some sort of sitcom on the television and drifting off into sleep with his hand against my cheek, that I could truly say I had found happiness in my new lifestyle.

And then, on a rare break from work, sitting alone in my apartment, the inevitable struck as suddenly as if it were a very badly filmed, very mercilessly crafted horror movie.

I was, almost ironically, sitting against my bed, wrapped in a freshly laundered bathroom towel, slick wet from the shower and indulging in a few pages of "The Divine Comedy," impatiently awaiting Allen's arrival to greet him in my current apparel and spend the day beneath the sheets. After all, it was a day to celebrate; it was none other than the four-month anniversary of the day he so bravely confronted me at work, saving me from the constant monotonous torture of my daily life. And so I was eager to reward him with a show of a few hours of affection, strategically having placed candles on either side of the apartment entrance, sprinkling rose petals in the relatively cheap bathtub (you wouldn't normally expect that from a gun-wielding, kilt-wearing girl, would you?) and stashing a gratuitious amount of chocolate syrup in the refrigerator. I even unplugged the telephone rather viciously from the wall. It would be perfect, and I was so anxious the text before my eyes seemed to blur and distort in a million different, hormone-induced fantasies.

That was when I heard the crash.

I bolted upright instantly; it was from [iinside[/i the apartment, the sudden sickening crunching of wood and what could only be plaster that was too close for comfort. My fingers lunged with rapid speed for the pistol hidden beneath my pillow, and I jerked it to the side of my scantily-clad hip, pulling the towel close about my body in a sudden act of self-consciousness. It was undoubtedly a thief, some type of burglar who had a tendency toward violence...who else would crush their way through my apartment entrance, and then phase into an abrupt silence, other than someone with the intent of pilfering and possibly harming its inhabitants?

Slowly, I padded across the bedroom carpet, my bare feet arched to keep as deathly quiet as possible. I jerked my head to the side of the opened door, peered through the narrow hall that was as quiet as if nothing had just occured--and managed to take in a few deep, comforting breaths to ease the burst of adrenaline and anxiety pumping through my veins. As I willed myself to walk forward, my pistol cocked and held before my heaving chest, shards of glass began to litter the hardwood floor of my modest kitchen, almost innumerable as I progressed through the living room, deadly deceptive in its shimmering near-invisibility. I swore beneath my breath as I struggled to walk decisively around them, catching a few tiny shards against the soles of my feet, wincing in pain at the tiny tears in my skin. It wouldn't do good to scream, not now, not when I had no idea if whoever had intruded into my apartment was still [ithere[/i--

Then I saw it, and clamped my hand over my mouth to fight the urge to cry out. A body lay face-down against the ground, the carefully placed candles once lining the entranceway snapped in two at their frail wicks beneath its outstretched frame, a thick curtain of smoke from the explosion of plaster covering his otherwise strikingly light, heavily muscled back in a cast of pure white. Gashes lined his skin, laced with fresh blood, a few shards of shining glass still embedded within his flesh, pricks of wood interlaced in the sinewy skin--

I crouched forward carefully, my pistol still in one hand, free fingertips brushing away the shock of white hair from the unmoving face.

That was when it all clicked, all too late--

_White hair._

I drew backwards as if I had been slapped; my hands slipping against the man's face, my body arching and tensing as I let out a cry of shock, so loudly I could hear it echoing down the halls through the jagged hole that was once my apartment door. Instantly I found myself falling against the floor and pushing myself with my legs and palms as far away as I could without hurting myself on the glass and debris. For a moment, the body twitched enough for the face to turn in an abrupt motion; the heavy-lidded eyes opened to reveal two sharp, blue orbs, the barely moving lips, then the eyes widened in what seemed to be recognition before falling shut in a slack, tired motion yet again.

I pulled myself to my feet, my bare legs trembling as I neared him for the second time, pushed his face unwillingly to the side as if he were a bug I was prodding with a stick. A low groan fell from his upturned mouth, and he opened his eyes again, more slowly, as if it pained him.

_"...Dante?"_ I gasped, staring straight into the achingly familiar face, a blood-red amulet strung about his white neck, his bare chest heaving in long, deep breaths as he struggled to regain consciousness.

"Eva..." He coughed, sputtered, his voice a low, helpless wheeze; I frowned as my thoughts became filled with thick confusion, wrapping my arms around his torso and struggling to help him into a sitting position.

He slumped against me, his face lying against my bare shoulder, incredibly warm as his moist breath rose and fell against the side of my neck. My arms were entwined around his broad, naked back; and then as he coughed again, suddenly pulling away from me with the amazing force of his strong arms to regard me with nothing more than a violent snarl, I realized two things at once:

Vergil, not Dante, was lying in a heap of rubble in my apartment, glowering at me as if I were his mortal enemy.

And, to top it all off, he was completely naked.

My eyes widened and I cried out in shock for the second time that dreadful day; he lunged forward, his gaze fierce, grabbing at my wrists and pinning me against the ground as if he hadn't lost any strength while lying unconscious moments before. A sharp pain filled the back of my head as I struggled against his grip; he pinned his naked leg between my own to keep me down, his ferocious glare setting my stunned nerves on edge. Vergil had me pinned so absolutely against the ground that his body was pressed against my own; an uncomfortable feeling in my thin wardrobe, even more uncomfortable when he was breathing heavily on my bare throat, my frantic fingertips searching for the pistol that had been knocked from my hands with the force of his attack.

"Where am I?!" He demanded, practically screaming in my wincing face, "Where did you take me, you damned wench?! I'll_ kill_ you, I swear it, I'll kill you for taking me away from the demon world and into this sickening filth of a--"

His gaze twisted into bewilderment as a shrill ringing filled the tense room; my own eyes widened and we both froze at the sound of my doorbell, ringing frantically--ten, eleven times. Footsteps broke into a run at the end of the hall; and in an instant I was gazing in horror at Allen's red face, his eyes widened in disbelief, mouth contorted in pure rage, the bouquet of flowers in his hands falling in a shower of petals and thorns against the already ruined floor.

Ruined, like my life was just about to become.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:**

Hello all! Yes, this took a disgustingly long time to post, but more will follow much faster provided that I have people who like this fanfic and the way it's going. I'm pretty sure I know now what I'll be doing with this so expect longer chapters and much more twists in the plot and such…

I wanted to thank EVERYONE for all the reviews for my first installment of the fanfic. I am so happy that you guys like the idea and are willing to read more, and the support really urges me to go on. Thank you all who reviewed:

**silver-kitsune223**

**pitfire52101:** I'm sure you're glad I'm updating this now! I named this 'fic the V-Files because I thought it gave it a sort of cute, "X-files" like quality, in which Lady is investigating and uncovering the supernatural experience of basically taking care of a an ex-devil, namely Vergil…baby-sitting just because he's pretty clueless on how to survive in the human world.

**Chrome**

**Nowshin:**Oh yes, poor Allen…I'm afraid you'll feel worse for him after this. But don't worry, your pity will evaporate in due time.

**YinYangDarkLight:** Yeah I was worried about completely giving away the point to this story but I thought it was necessary since Vergil becoming human is essentially a VITAL PART of the plot…so why not? Though the "why's" and "hows" are yet to come, obviously!

**Screw You Bastards:** Thanks for the constructive criticism.

**Mistress of Destruction**

**Dmc Fan**

**Meirelle**

**SoDesuKa:** NO! Don't hurt poor Dante! Just because he can't defend himself properly…-pout-

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**The V-Files: Or, Babysitting the Devil**

**One.**

At this moment in time, I could describe many things that occurred all at once, as if they were frozen before me in a torturous black and white film for me to watch until the end of my short little human life. It's only when you are faced with a crisis right before your very eyes that you ever notice the most minute of details. I don't have to describe to you every speck of dribbling blood against the walls, or every slow, surreal flick of my father's wrist as I watched him murder my mother and change my life forever.

Yet, somehow, this seemed much worse.

The way in which Allen's eyes bulged at the sight, the way his twisted, tight-lipped face flushed into deep shades of red like a volcano about to erupt from a thousand year slumber--the delicate, almost graceful twitch in his eyes as the marble figure above me shifts with incredible quickness to his naked feet, propelling into a sprint towards Allen's unmoving frame...

And my voice catches itself within its throat; prickling against my tongue, never leaving my lips until I am leaping through the air like a nude, flailing acrobat, my hands grabbing at the ankles of the snarling demon who is now inches away from breaking my suddenly albino boyfriend's skull into pieces. With a cry of surprise as my own belated scream pierces the air, Vergil's clamped hands pry open from around Allen's neck, and the momentum, much like a vertical stack of cards, sends him toppling over Allen, who then proceeds to tumble backwards down the stairs in a series of sickening crashes as his body makes contact with each step.

Time regains its inevitably cruel quickness; I am lying, towel-less and battered, upon Vergil's outstretched legs, and it takes me a moment to register he is unmoving. Past his strangely immobile figure, down the twisting flights of stairs, a low, desperate groan of pain echoes like a dying wraith. I raise my head up slightly and see a trail of blood against the floor of the landing. Then I do the most productive thing I can at the moment.

I scream.

In a blur of distorted shapes and figures, I found myself somehow dressed in jeans and a jacket, somehow standing before a hospital wing, a bouquet of empty-smelling roses a blood-red in my white-knuckled hands, a strange sort of numbness to my brain. Mechanically, I flung the bloody-petaled flowers into the crumpled mouth of a wastebasket, almost relishing the resounding sigh of dead flora. The doctor's grinning, mocking words were stripped of logic in my mind, as cruel and sterile in their falsely comforting lilt as the pristine white walled world surrounding me.

_Give him a little over a week to heal, maybe more...fractured rib, nasty gash in his head...he'll be alright, no harm done..._

No harm done.

I envisioned him lying in a webbed coffin of bandages, victim to the spidery limbs of cackling nurses and greedy-eyed surgeons. I remembered clutching my mother's cold hand as she lay like a doll in her bed, lifeless and inert.

_No harm done, not really. After all, _you're_ still alive, and you should be grateful..._

My fists clenched and my jaw tightened as I whipped around towards a nearby room. My body was a sudden bitter weed, determined to choke out any life in its way. I walked forward, caught the sight of hair whiter than the walls themselves, found myself glaring down at Vergil's blue gaze. He seemed to not even take notice of my entrance; he appeared to be deep in thought, almost concentrating to the point his brows were creased completely level with his eyes.

How_charming._ Satan can be puzzled.

I stole his attention with a warm greeting.

"What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?! You almost killed my boyfriend!"

He glanced up, slightly, regarding me with a scowl. Surprising that he could still look so harsh, when lying in the confines of a hospital bed; but it wasn't as if he were _human,_ in any case.

"Don't remind me. I was hoping to have caused spinal trauma, at least."

As if in response, he flexed his fingers meditatively; he had ripped the IV from his firm arm, leaving it swinging in a pendulum's arc in the air. My own fingers ached in sweet temptation to slap him across his remorseless face.

"So you were hoping to _paralyze_ Allen? Tell me, how many times do you take trips to the suburbs to streak around through building walls, beat up boyfriends and reduce apartments to pieces?"

I slanted a brow in sarcastic speculation, as if I would take any sort of response of his seriously. I knew a rational part of me, buried deep, deep down beneath the rage was screaming at me to be aware of his more dangerous, demonic half; yet then I was suffering the rage of a typical woman. That is, a woman who holds grudges, and will stop at nothing, as I have proven so long ago, to counteract her revenge; even if it meant murdering her own hideously immoral father. It seemed as if Vergil was somehow aware of this, because his eyes slanted into waves of consideration as he opened his mouth to retaliate,

"When I am thrown into a world in which I am not familiar against my will and am faced with impending threats, such as your sallow-faced, weakling of a companion, I must defend myself. You humans think you can dominate anything..."

As if an afterthought, he glared at the IV cord, which slowed to a dead stillness in the static air. The medicine probably didn't have any effect on him; he would have healed himself of his injuries over time. I rolled my eyes and thought of poor Allen, crippled in his vulnerable humanity. Vergil did have a point, however, as grudgingly as I ached to argue with him; it was something done from shock, and wouldn't I have panicked in a similar fashion? _Didn't_ I, when I first met his brother, shooting him right through his forehead?

But that was still different. Vergil was a half-demon, and I was purely human. I was the more irrational, the more illogical by nature; he, on the other hand, had the ability to compose himself at least a bit in threatening situations.

"That's different," I muttered, crossing my arms before my chest like a little child, "I was trying to calm you down, and you tackled me and almost killed the first thing you saw! You were like—you were like a deranged dog with rabies or something, completely out of control and _growling—_"

Vergil raised a silvery brow and snorted in disdain,

"A_deranged dog_? Honestly, woman, couldn't you have thought of any better comparison in that pretty little head of yours?"

"You were _naked._"

"And so were you," He retorted quickly, his gaze suddenly irritated, "At least, you were concealing yourself—barely, for what I'd presume would have been for your skinny little human lover."

I clenched my hands into fists and swore beneath my breath.

"He has a _name_," I hissed, refusing to scream because of the smug look on Vergil's otherwise stony face, "His name is Allen, and I was celebrating our one-year anniversary--"

Vergil chuckled, though it had a hard sort of bitterness to it, almost spiteful,

"One-year anniversary. So stupid, how you humans seek to catalogue everything to do with time in your flimsy little memories. Who cares about the next day or month or year when it all blurs together in the end? You were with him in some sort of lusty, empty little relationship—isn't that enough?"

"I don't like your use of past-tense, Dr. Phil," I replied angrily, my fingers drumming against the nearest desk in rising ire.

"Well you can't romp with your human fling while he's wrapped up like an Arachnid's prey, can you? I suppose you could, filthy as you humans are..."

I gazed at him with the intent of trying to find a way to physically harm the devil without bringing injury to myself—and then found shuddered in revulsion as I realized I was having a conversation with Vergil about my intimate—and, almost sickeningly close, my _sex_ life. My face grew hot and I withdrew my hands only to cross them before my arms again, biting hard on the inside of my cheek to keep myself from screaming in rage,

"What is _wrong _with you—can't you just go back to your little demon world and leave me out of this?!"

My voice was unnecessarily loud, almost a few octaves from a frantic scream. Vergil looked morbid as a passing, plump and permed nurse stopped at our door with a puzzled expression on her face. She took in Vergil's bare-chested glory as he lay almost deathly still in his bed, eyed me critically, and rolled her eyes.

The rotund woman walked away just as quickly as she had come, and I whipped around to follow her in all my blind rage when I felt a steel cold hand clamp around my forearm. I writhed like a worm to struggle out of his grip, turning my head in his general direction to scream; yet at the look on his face, my words of protest faltered to a mere whimper.

"I can't go back."

"What are you _talking_ about?" I said while biting my lip, sick of his strange behavior and even stranger stance of almost human somberness, "Of course you can. We'll just find the nearest portal, or send you on your way when we leave the hospital, since you can defend yourself well enough, obviously..."

"No," He demanded, his face suddenly paler than it had been mere seconds before, marred by a sickly, yellow cast, "Yamato is no longer with me."

My voice faltered at the sudden expression in Vergil's face. His eyes were wide and horrified; his hands sprawled every which-way over his god-like body (I can still observe, can't I?), as if searching for something.

"Yamato's not there?" I quipped, my voice a nervous chirp of apprehension at the wave of fresh anger in his face.

"Yamato has been bound to me at birth…it is tied to my demonic blood. _I can never lose it._"

My mind strained to register the words he uttered with such dread; the expression upon his face seemed unreadable, incredibly perplexed for the usual cool, self-assured demonic tyrant that was Vergil. His blue eyes were wide and almost ethereal against the ghastly white, wraith-like quality of his face, his mouth opened in sheer shock.

_Demon logic_, I thought, because regardless of his childish little stupor, I still had _no_ idea what he was insinuating.

"Um…" I trailed off, wracking my oh-so-mortal brain, "…So you can't just get a new one, or find it again? I mean, why does it matter so much if you've lost it? You could just use a demonic _butter knife_ to slice away us humans, for God's sake."

I laughed a bit nervously as Vergil's piercing gaze met my own, which hardened into something fierce, and yet, at that exact same moment, unbelievably vulnerable.

"Not if I'm human as well."

My brain refused to function; my body went cold, goose bumps gasping and shuddering against my icy skin.

"What…?"

He nodded, ever so slowly, his words heavy with finality, his fists clenching upon his bed,

"Somehow…my demonic half is gone. My powers have been meddled with, destroyed. I am _human_, woman, and I am just as disgustingly _mortal _and powerless as the rest of you. And I have no idea how to leave this place."

My brain was weighed down with sheer terror; my body trembled in the horror of his words, the inevitable shock that accompanied them. A response was lost in my throat, and so my body decided to take matters in its own hands, as the air from my lungs compressed all around me and the world began to spin.

When I hit the floor, I heard the all too human voice of Vergil above me, wracked with frustration,

"…Shit."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **

Thank you to my reviewers!:

**Eric ****Draven**** 201**

**Silver-kitsune223**

**Mistress of Destruction**

**Pitfire52101**

I love writing this 'fic. I love love love love it.

This chapter should be called "Chapter 2a" rather than "Chapter Two," really, because most of it is honestly going to be conversation and the plot will begin to actually pick up in the third chapter coming up shortly. But I felt that it was necessary to write this, if only to lay out what direction everyone was going, and to flesh out Vergil's new human character and persona…I realize he may seem slightly OOC in this chapter and I apologize, but I'm experimenting with him and how he'll change as a human. Also, I love making Lady a smart-ass, did you notice? I also loved her look and persona in her brief appearance in Devil May Cry 4; she is so smart-ass in the beginning that I thought it fit her character in this nicely…

Well, okay, enough babbling.

Enjoy, please review, and the next update should be coming shortly!

* * *

**The V-Files: Or, Babysitting the Devil**

**Two.**

If the Devil were human, what would he do with his life?

No, this isn't a philosophical question and it certainly isn't the babbling of a church group fanatic. It's real life—or, more specifically, _my_ real life; the real, factual life of human sacrifices, demon-killing, monster shooting, world-saving routine. It's the kind of life where you can wake up, brush your teeth, and prepare to assault a nasty, blood-thirsty throng of 7 Hells with pure ammo before they devour you whole. Or the kind of life where you can be completely and utterly content with the normalcy of an apartment and a boyfriend, nestled in bed just before Satan plows through your apartment wall and attacks said boyfriend in naked rage.

So, if Lucifer was suddenly transformed into a human being, what would he do?

Well, currently, he is residing in my temporary residence in Allen's apartment, sulking like a five year old girl. I should have more right, I think, to assume his ultra-childish position; he is clothed, now, in a pair of Allen's black pants and tight-fitting turtleneck, his arms crossed before his chest, eyes narrowed into icy slits, lips twisted in what could be a cross between constipation and extremely deep thinking. His legs are crossed in reminiscence to a yoga expert—or, perhaps, Buddha, if Buddha were white-haired, in shape, and as violent as a crazed asylum escapee on steroids. This thought made me chuckle, slightly; a grim, dark chuckle, which, unfortunately, was not gone unheard.

I braced myself for an onslaught of bitching, yet to my surprise received nothing more than an irritated scowl. From my position on the couch, in Allen's modestly bare living room, I received visual word from the kitchen clock that a good half-hour had passed in which I've simply watched and endured the Sparda sulking like a baby. There weren't any tantrums, thank God, but perhaps even more VB (Vergil bitching) would have been tolerable compared to this cold, angsty silence.

Finally, I leaned over my half-temptingly warm couch (it was past two a.m., after all) and struggled to gaze into his stone face, to say something to sabotage the Sparda from his trance.

"Look on the bright side! At least we can do something about that awful white hair of yours; you don't want to look fifty here, unless you like them older and gummy; I was thinking a nice, deep brown, maybe black—what about you?"

I tensed myself for the retort, even physical violence as I gazed at Vergil's hawk-like eyes—

Then, nothing whatsoever.

"Atlas has nothing on you," I mumble in irritation at the squatting, statuesque devil in my room, before turning my head to face the couch's leather body, which seemed more vibrant and full of life at the moment. Incidentally I had skipped work because of my crisis, and I wasn't very eager to face the brunt of my psychotic boss's rage the next day. But then there was the problem of leaving Vergil in _my_ home unattended, when he had already destroyed it before while unconscious, and then there was what I would actually do with him, having no idea if he could function in human life without a string of murders pinned to his name.

I stuffed my pillow over my head, as if to block out the world, and sighed.

The sane victim would contact Dante for help, dump the twin on his sibling. But, honestly, would I handle going back to my life of normalcy after visiting Devil May Cry? Could I resist the lure of my old, utterly inhuman lifestyle-and, when it all comes down to resistance, _should_ I? Vergil was human now, apparently—somehow. That didn't necessarily have to equate him with Dante or the demon world, anymore. And even if it did, it wasn't where I belonged. I wasn't my father. I was his dispatcher.

After what seemed like a second, I groaned tiredly, realizing I had drifted off. I pulled the pillow from my head and glanced about in the darkness. Vergil was _still_ in his Buddha-esque pose, gaze boring into my blank TV screen with the determination of imitating a garden gnome. I sighed, again, watching his still white head and contemplating the extent of his…whatever he was feeling at the moment, having become what he so despised. I remembered Arkham's hissing, deformed face, just before killing him—and the thought of waking up one day to be such a creature made me shudder.

"Does it hurt?"

I shut my mouth in shock. I didn't mean to say that, didn't mean to ask something so personal, especially from _him._ I expected him to remain silent—but to my surprise, he actually nodded.

"Yes," He said, seeming to hesitate after doing so. It was the first thing he had said in hours.

"It hurts because it is strange."

I pondered the cryptic meaning for a moment before turning my head to meet his lowered eyes. His hair was like a curtain over his face, as if that were the only remaining protection from humanity.

"I feel so…_weak,_" He said, his raising his hands and gazing with his head inclined towards his palms, "I feel _everything_. All these strange, rippling thoughts and emotions…always…naked, shameful, vulnerable."

"Like Adam," I reply, my head nestled between my hands in contemplation.

Azure eyes regarded me for the first time that night,

"If you wish to cite such fairytales," His voice was a sneer then, and I thought he hadn't lost his haughtiness, "Regardless, I must find a way to rid myself of this disgusting form. Perhaps I can consult the nearest demon, teleport to the realms to find a way to obtain my power…"

"If you did that, you'd get ripped to shreds. Anyway, I haven't seen a demon for over a year. The only ones here are burglars and rapists."

Vergil regarded me with a sneer,

"Stupid girl. Demons populate this planet in human form—surely the daughter of Arkham himself would know of such phenomena?"

"Shut up," I hissed, "You're pretty ungrateful for me letting you be a guest in my boyfriend's apartment after you beat him down, you know."

Vergil merely brushed this comment aside with a flick of his wrist, before continuing,

" Humans, animals—the Christians and superstitious were not so far off to label the snake as a demonic form. Many weakened demons who find residing in Hell to be an overpowering experience exile themselves to this world, changing shape as not to alarm the human populace to their presence. Even witches exist…in a way, not with the magic and broomsticks, yet with the ability to hold a psychic power as a result of a very, very thin supernatural linea—_are you listening?"_

I gasped and opened my eyes, realizing I had been drifting off to sleep. Vergil was giving me an agitated sort of death-glare, and if Yamato were in his hands I would have probably been threatened with the sharp edge of his blade. I shrugged my shoulders and sighed; he couldn't blame _me_ for sleeping, it had been a long night, and I was filled with skepticism at his vainly hopeful words.

"Look, Vergil. I've been living in this area for over a year, and I haven't encountered any sorts of demons or supernatural undergoings or the tooth fairy in all my time here, and I'm an ex-Devil Hunter, so I should know, shouldn't I? Maybe this place is just that one exception, since it's so calm here, compared to New York or other big cities demons can hide in…"

I trailed off as the Son of Sparda raised a silvery brow in equal skepticism to rival my own,

"Maybe you haven't found them because you're not looking for them. Maybe you just want so desperately to be humanized, you keep yourself from anything to do with the demonic realm."

At first, I merely scoffed, somewhat taken aback by this insightful observation; then my insides thrummed with an almost violent jarring as I realized that the devil's words may be truer than I had thought. Could I be hiding from anything to do with the supernatural in this world, putting off the possibility that creatures and entities existed outside of Temen-ni-guru? Opening the tower had been easy enough for Vergil and…his accomplice hadn't it? So why couldn't it be possible that Devils lurked all around us, if in a weakened, pathetic sort of state, nothing comparable to Vergil's former glory or Dante's current strength?

It couldn't be.

Because I didn't want it to be that way.

I just wanted to curl up in a ball in Allen's arms, in the comforting normalcy of his touch, the normalcy of my daily routine…the warmth and safety of a life devoid of Devils and danger.

A life devoid of fear, the fear that had plagued me ever since I was a little girl.

I swallowed the sudden knot in my throat, looking up to find the white-haired Satan watching me with obvious, if not difficultly hidden, disgust. Dark mirth filled my veins as I fought the urge to laugh again; he was obviously examining the _human_ girl who he was forced to reside with, never fully aware as of yet that he was, for the moment, just as equally disgusting.

I should have been the disgusted one—_he_ was from Hell, after all.

"If I'm trying to be human," I finally replied, feeling the exasperation undulate through my strained voice, "Why did you fall into my life?"

The ex-devil obviously hadn't been expecting that; he cocked a head in mild surprise and consideration, before shrugging his broad shoulders, mirroring my gesture a few minutes ago…a habit common of the flawed beings that us humans were.

"Perhaps whoever stripped me of my power knew where they were sending me. Perhaps they do not intend me to die within Earth, but have some sort of plan…whatever it is, it is disgusting and vile, and I will snap their head from their neck and drain them of their blood in due time."

I watched his face twist into an angered, dangerous snarl as he spoke, his hands balling up into fists, his brows furrowing in determination. Yes, Vergil could _very easily_ become some form of mass murderer if I had ever decided not to take him in with me, and the realization sent an involuntary shudder through my spine. Of course, his morals were wretchedly twisted; but for _devil_ morals, they were in an entirely different perspective than now, when in human terms, disemboweling another as an act of vengeance seemed a bit radical.

But I just nodded, realizing that the sooner we found some sort of way to satisfy the new human and send him back home, the sooner I could rid myself of this horrendous experience and pretend it was all just some terrible nightmare, returning to my actual life.

"_What_ is going on in that pathetic little mind of yours, woman?"

"I'm thinking of what you said," I lied easily, before feigning a yawn to indicate that it was getting _very_ late, "About fortune tellers and the like—"

"Witches," He corrected with an air of superiority, nodding.

"…_Fortune tellers, _that's what they're called here, and we have nothing but fakes outside of the New York area. Well…probably in the entire world, really, because that's all just a load of garbage, reading with tea leaves and crystal balls—"

"And the fact that I am the son of the Devil is not equally peculiar and unbelievable?"

_Damn it_. He had a point. I felt my teeth grit together and I eyed him severely,

"…_Yes_. But you're not, anymore. Maybe when you came into this dimension you became human because _everyone here is human and you had to fit in._"

"Ridiculous," He replied easily, narrowing his eyes at me, "I know for a fact someone manipulated me to be this way. And I am going to find out whom, woman, even if you don't intend to help me. I will interrogate every pathetic little scum human I see on the street, torture them into speech in any way possible, rip apart their possessions and frighten their children—"

"_Okay!_" I gasped at his psychotic determination, raising my hands to nearly plead with him, "_Don't_ do anything like that, not here! They have laws preventing those kinds of things, you know…you wouldn't want to be locked up in a human prison, I assure you."

To my surprise, Vergil did not reply. Suddenly, he was pulling himself to his feet, towering above me for an instant before launching unexpectedly towards the kitchen. In an instant a loud clattering came from the inside of the room and I yelped in surprise, pulling myself to my feet and following him in a fatigued sort of daze,

"What are you doing?!"

Vergil was crouched over the table, his long arms wrapped around his stomach, face scrunched in an expression of sheer pain. My heart leapt in my throat as I watched him, feeling both stunned and worried that somehow he was hurt, wounded from the fall, dying…should I call the ambulance? What should I do—

"My stomach…" He gasped, and I turned towards him again, having whipped around to rush for the telephone, "…It…it hurts…"

Then the realization struck, and I nearly doubled over in both relief and twisted amusement.

He was_ hungry._

"Vergil…have you eaten?"

Blue eyes met my own, blue eyes that looked as if they were behind bars on Death Row,

"…_Eaten?_ Why would I do such a thing, save for strength—"

"Okay, well, we weak little humans _have to eat_. I'll just…I'll just order a pizza or something, and hopefully you won't drop dead of starvation within the hour."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes as Vergil groaned and beat the kitchen table with a fist in agitation at the pain in his stomach. He was lucky he didn't somehow switch species _and_ gender; cramps would have been an _incredibly_ interesting thing to witness his reaction to.

The thought made me giggle as I ordered a large pizza with extra cheese, olives and pepperoni. I didn't know what Vergil liked, but really, why did it matter if he was supposedly dying of starvation? I had a feeling the savage beast in my kitchen would scarf up anything I gave him. I retreated back into the kitchen, seriously fearful of leaving him alone at _any_ moment, before realizing that, like the faithful dog, he had found today's newspaper rolled and shoved carelessly to the side of the room, and had it opened up with each large, wrinkled page spread almost neatly across the tabletop. One, in particular, displayed the advertisements, in which I could clearly see the image of a crystal ball and a woman's smiling face.

And Vergil was quite uncharacteristically smiling back at that face with a hopeful twinkle in his all-too human eyes.

_Shit._


End file.
